


to end and to begin, in the midnight hour

by autumnalesque



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnalesque/pseuds/autumnalesque
Summary: A ritual, interrupted.What it is like, in the after. To live with regrets, with questions, with a longing you've been afraid to put into words.(And sometimes, when something is broken, the pieces put back together are stronger than before.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65
Collections: 2019 Dimilix Holiday Exchange





	to end and to begin, in the midnight hour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dimilix Holiday Exchange, for Aurumis! 
> 
> The prompt was: Felix likes to touch Dimitri’s eyepatch... he feels guilty everytime he remembers Dimitri’s eyes from years ago. Now there’s only one, and it looks too tired, except when they meet. Now he touches it almost like a ritual. Angst, can be porn too or fluff. 
> 
> I wanted to write something that started out angsty because both of these boys are stubborn, but ended with them in a better place than they were before. I just really want them to be happy;;;
> 
> Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this! Happy holidays, everyone~

After the war, they are always busy. Rebuilding a kingdom takes a lot of work, as it turns out, and though Dimitri delegates well, there is still hardly a moment where it feels as though they can stop to just breathe and bask in victory. 

It is only in the latest hours of the evening, when the candles on Dimitri's writing desk have burned themselves down to stumps, that they can have a moment alone. Felix blows out the flames, climbs into Dimitri's lap in the uncomfortable wooden desk chair, and kisses him like they're seventeen and ravenous for it, but without all the rage and animosity they'd felt back then. 

It becomes a ritual, or something like it; every night, as though making up for years of lost time, Felix comes to him and worships at the altar of Dimitri's lips, his body, his voice. His hands wander, mapping out the planes of his shoulders, the scars littering his skin. They do not speak, at least not in words, but Dimitri does not stop him and so Felix continues, night after night. 

Tonight, Felix kisses him with the hunger of a man who's starved for days and has suddenly been given a feast. When he comes up for air, the kiss breaking to the sounds of their quiet gasping for breath, he leans forward and looks Dimitri in his good eye. 

Tonight, Felix interrupts the ritual. 

"Hey," he says, and Dimitri visibly startles at his voice; they do not speak, not in the quiet time. Not in these moments, so precious and unbearably intimate. "Tell me. What happened, here?" 

And Felix leans in, pressing his lips to the patch covering Dimitri's right eye, and feels the way Dimitri goes tense against him. 

"I won't speak of it," Dimitri says, in that stubborn tone that suggests, with just the right amount of coldness, that Felix should drop the subject. 

Felix has never known when to quit, and so he does not. He rolls his eyes, leaning in to rest his forehead against Dimitri's, and rolls his hips _just_ so, reveling in the way it makes Dimitri squirm, his cheeks flushed. "I don’t see why not,” he says, his voice a low, sultry growl. “You’re covered in scars. So am I. It’s hardly anything special.”

It’s such a stupidly specific thing to be upset about-- and that, Felix supposes, is _why_ it’s the one thing Dimitri refuses to share with him. He’s always been difficult in this way, finding the smallest things to pick at about himself, over and over again until he nearly drives himself mad. 

Felix leans back, his hand coming up to run fingers along the fabric covering Dimitri’s eye, and watches the way Dimitri has to force himself not to recoil. Some part of him feels guilty-- this had happened when Felix was not there to protect him, after all. Felix remembers blue eyes, clear as the ocean and just as fathomless in their depths, filled with hopes and dreams. Now there is only the one, and it is battle-hardened and weary, so much so that it makes Felix’s heart ache when he thinks of the difference. 

Dimitri is very still, but he does not make a move to stop Felix and so he continues, his fingers tucking up under the patch and tugging at it. “If I’d been there,” he says, making sure to meet Dimitri’s gaze as he pulls the fabric away entirely, tossing the eyepatch to the floor where, quite frankly, it belongs. “I’d have slit the throat of the one who did this to you. Maybe I’d have even enjoyed it.” he says, and watches the way Dimitri’s good eye goes wide. 

Felix leans in, pressing his lips to the mutilated, scarred skin and feels the way Dimitri shivers. "You wouldn't have," he murmurs, "Because I deserved it." 

Felix scoffs. "As if that would have stopped me." He replies, before running his tongue along the scar tissue, sensuous and slow. 

"Felix," Dimitri manages, his voice strained. "You--"

"Don't," Felix replies, exasperated, leaning back and looking at Dimitri irritably. "Just shut up, idiot. It's this you want anyway, isn't it?" 

He reaches, trailing his fingers along Dimitri's cock through his trousers. He watches the way Dimitri's adam's apple bobs when he swallows at the touch. “By the Goddess, Felix--” he manages, and Felix cuts him off with a finger to Dimitri’s lips. 

“Oh, for… ugh. Don’t go bringing _Her_ into this.” he chides, rolling his eyes before saying, flatly, “You’re trying your best to kill the mood. Why.” 

Dimitri leans back into the chair with a defeated sigh. “What is _this,_ Felix?” he asks, gesturing between the two of them. 

This is, Felix thinks, his own fault. He’d ruined a perfectly good thing, breaking whatever spell came over them in the silence. It’s been a good run, at least. 

“It doesn’t have to be anything, idiot. We can go back to how it was before I opened my mouth like an imbecile. I won’t ask you about your stupid eye or whatever.” he says, with a frustrated huff at the end of it, just for effect. That one blue eye just watches him, level and serious, and Felix hates feeling like this. Like Dimitri is looking past his skin, right into the heart of him. Seeing things he shouldn’t be able to see. 

“I think we both know that isn’t going to happen,” Dimitri replies, the corner of his mouth turning up just so, into the barest hint of a smile. “Nor would I wish it so. But it could be something more. Something… better, I think. I… I care deeply for you, Felix, and I’m at least somewhat certain that you feel much the same for me.” 

His hand comes up, then, so gentle it makes Felix want to scream as his fingers brush against the scar on Felix’s left shoulder. The memory of the wound is still as fresh as if it were yesterday; the feeling of the poison in the arrow he’d taken there coursing through his blood had burned like wildfire. 

It’d been meant, of course, for Dimitri. 

He shuts his eyes for a moment, dizzy with everything. “You’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, aren’t you? You _do_ know you have responsibilities, right? I can’t give you what you need, in that regard.” 

Dimitri has the gall to laugh; that loud, surprisingly raucous laugh he’d grown into over many years. Felix is torn between punching or kissing him, so he forces himself to do neither; he sits there, opening his eyes to look directly at Dimitri as though daring him to deny it. 

“The outdated ideals this kingdom has run on for so many years are things I hope to change,” Dimitri says, honestly, “with Claude’s help, of course. And as far as children go, there are plenty who are orphaned from the war. I’ve been thinking of adopting a few of them for quite some time, once things have stabilized a little more. You needn’t come up with excuses, Felix.”

Ah, Felix thinks. Of course. Of course Dimitri has corresponded with Claude about things like this. He’s always been meticulously thorough in everything, admirably so. 

“You’re impossible to argue with, you know that, right?” he says, exasperated, and watches the way Dimitri’s face lights up with amusement. This time, Felix does punch him lightly in the shoulder, just for good measure. 

“So I’ve been told. Still… I very much want you here by my side, Felix. In every way that matters. And, perhaps… one day I will find the words to tell you what you want to know. Until then, it would be a great comfort to me to have you as a constant. I know that things have been… difficult, between us, these many years, but I’ve never wanted something so terribly much as I’ve wanted you.” Dimitri’s voice is soft, the light flush of color on his cheeks so endearing Felix wants to scream. 

He is, Felix knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, truly impossible.

Felix has never been very good with expressing his feelings. Words have always been difficult for him at the best of times. So he does the only thing he can do; he leans in, pressing a kiss to Dimitri’s forehead, then to that scarred mess of an eye once more, lingering. 

“A constant, you said,” he murmurs, softly. “I don’t know about anything else, but… I think I can be that.” 

When Dimitri leans in, tilting his body into Felix’s to bring their lips together this time, Felix surrenders to it. It feels like a pact, like a promise. It feels like total devastation. 

It feels like _home._


End file.
